When Pigs Fly
by The Integral of Awesome
Summary: Stiles is a fairy. Because Stiles is a fairy.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Stiles was late for a very important date. He'd already missed his meetings for the last _two _months, and he didn't want to cash in on the "three strikes" policy. For the third time. If he kept this up, there would be questions. Questions that would require answers. Answers that Stiles was none-too-eager to share with the class. Especially since his answers would involve an idiot-human-turned-even-more-idiot-werewolf best friend.

That, Stiles reasoned, was why, while he tore through the woods faster than he'd run, even for lacrosse, he didn't see the tall, dark tree looming directly in his path until his face had become newly acquainted with it. Perfect. Just, perfect.

Stiles groaned as he pulled his nose out of the dirt and came face-to-face with the words "Get up" carved into the wood. Dread creeping into his stomach (like had been happening _a lot_ lately, thanks to Scott and Derek and Jackson and _Peter_), Stiles got up, only to have the word "Higher" greet him at eye-level. Stiles craned his neck, stood on his tip-toes, and hopped around a little, but he only managed to spot the word "Highest" about a foot above his head.

Reluctantly (and grumbling about it _the entire time_), Stiles rolled out his shoulders, letting his wings slice through his shirt and jacket as they unfurled. Then, in the blink of an eye, Stiles was soaring up to the top of the tree, wind whipping his jacket and chilling his face.

The note stuck to the top of the tree like a star on Christmas eve was not, surprisingly, from his ever-complaining, ever-diligent council representative, Dain. It was unmarked except for the little smiley-face sticker holding the flap in back down (_definitely_ not Dain), but the words inside chilled Stiles to the very bone.

Scrawled in elegant, elaborate calligraphy on the plain, white paper were the words, "You're not alone anymore."

* * *

Stiles spent the next ten minutes hyperventilating in the woods. Then, he spent another fifteen slowly drowning in misery (and cold, because his shirt and jacket were still torn, and Stiles was feeling too self-pitying to repair them).

_ Then_, when Stiles was just about to move onto the "go home and pretend like nothing happened" part of the plan, who besides Derek freaking Hale would step out of the woods.

Stiles rubbed at his eyes viciously. "You are so not even close to the person I want to see right now." He opened his eyes again, and was surprised at the look on Derek's face. "What? It's not like this is the first time I've run into you in the forrest. You don't _own_ it, despite what you may tell yourself." The look was still there.

And that was when Stiles realized that his _wings_ were still out.

"Oh." Stiles blinked once, then twice for good measure. "This is a costume," he began, the sound of his entire world falling apart echoing in his ears, "for a costume party that people tend to wear costumes to."

"They just twitched." And Derek's eyebrows were _way_ too high on his forehead. Stiles couldn't remember _ever_ seeing them so high.

Stiles sighed, trying to roll his eyes like he normally would when Derek was being a constipated idiot, except it came off as more of a convulsion than an eye-roll. "Very convincing, I know. I worked on them for, like, 11 hours. Also, there is such a thing as a _breeze_. We are in the middle of the woods, which reminds me, what are you doing in the middle of the woods?"

Stiles thought his attempts at distraction were flawless, but Derek didn't quite see it that way. "That wasn't a _breeze_, you moron. I know when you're lying. Those are _wings_ on your back and _they just _**_twitched_**!"

"Woah," Stiles breathed, "you just italicized, like, half that sentence."

Derek growled, and Derek growling was never something Stiles _aimed_ to make happen (although he did make it happen. A lot.). Then Derek's hand shot out, quick as lightning, toward Stiles' right wing, and before Stiles knew what was happening, he was hovering two feet above Derek's head, heartbeat thrumming in his ears as his wings effortlessly helped him defy gravity. Damn his reflexes to the darkest, deepest pits of hell.

Now, Stiles wasn't an idiot. Pair of wings? Possibly deniable. Derek always boasted that he could, like, smell lies or something, but Stiles figured it wasn't actually as accurate as Derek let on. After all, lie detectors themselves weren't as accurate as most people gave them credit for, and Stiles' "costume party" line would have made a lot more sense if Derek had had a few long minutes to ponder the idea that _Stiles_ might be anything more than plain, boring, ol' human.

Flying above Derek's head, on the other hand? That was pretty black and white.

Still, Stiles had to try. "I can explain," Stiles began, hoping some brilliant inspiration would strike him, and soon.

Stiles had been hiding this secret _his entire life_. He'd lied and joked and excused himself out of all kinds sticky situations, like that one time that his dad caught him on the roof, ready to jump off. Stiles had told his dad he could fly; his dad had suggested therapy. The therapist had noticed some attention-deficit problems that Stiles had thought were about as covert as the broad side of a barn. Thus, Adderall.

"You can fly?" Derek asked, gobsmacked.

Stiles sighed, rubbing his hand on his head. "Wires, dude. Convincing, right? Like my wings. I'm hoping to impress Lydia with this one this year. I brought all my stuff out here to test-run it."

"You're wings are flapping."

"Animatronic," Stiles said without missing a beat.

"Earlier you called it a breeze."

This time Stiles didn't have to fake the eye-roll. "Earlier it _was _a breeze. Now it's animatronic. I know you're not the brightest bulb in the hardware store, but do try to keep up."

With a frustrated growl that Stiles liked to call his I-will-rip-Stiles'-throat-out-with-my-teeth growl, Derek leapt into the air, latching onto Stiles' ankle and dragging the pair of them down to the ground. Stiles had never flown with company before. He'd never had the chance.

"Hey, watch it! All my equipment is carefully calibrated for my specific height and weight, and it doesn't need your hefty, werewolf muscle-mass throwing it off."

"Stiles!" Derek shouted, and Stiles was pretty sure he saw some fang. "Have you said even one remotely true thing since I got here?" Yep, definite fang-age going on over there.

Stiles thought for a moment. He could continue to play dumb with Derek. Eventually, no matter how stubborn and pig-headed Derek could be, he would have to concede (as long as Stiles didn't admit to anything). Still, Derek would drag him to hell and back before he was satisfied; he would most definitely bring Scott into this whole mess (and that was the _last_ thing Stiles needed); and, in all honesty, Stiles could sort of use Derek's help. So.

"Well, you really aren't who I wanted to see right now, you _don't_ own the forrest, and I really do want to impress Lydia."

Derek released a harsh breath, and he looked both relieved and horrified that Stiles wasn't covering anymore.

"Also, I really can explain."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Stiles didn't think that the middle of the woods where Derek could murder him and no one would ever know was the best place to have this conversation. Not only was the whole _murder_ thing a possibility constantly weighing on Stiles' mind, but Derek had already proved that strangers could stumble upon them far too easily. Plus, they were uncomfortably close to the scene of the crime, and what if the perpetrator returned? Dreadful.

Still, Derek had that even-try-suggesting-that-we-go-somewhere-else-and-I'll-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth look on his face, so Stiles got right down to the explaining.

"So, I'm a fairy."

Stiles didn't really think about the words until they were already out of his mouth, but Derek's eyebrow was suddenly raised in what amounted to mocking laughter in Derek-speech, so Stiles reevaluated and then became righteously angry.

"Seriously? I'm trying to reveal my deepest, darkest secret to you (and I still don't trust you that much, by the way), and you're going to make fun of me? Not cool, bro'." Stiles huffed. "Anyway, I'm a fairy. With the wings and the flying-"

"What, do you have fairy dust, too?"

Stiles glared, crossing his arms over his chest. "I resent that. I mean, I totally do, but I still resent that."

Derek didn't respond, but his eyebrows were saying plenty (something along the lines of "Fairy dust, you've got to be kidding me" and "I will rip your throat out with my teeth," but Stiles _always_ thought Derek's eyebrows were saying "I will rip your throat out with my teeth").

"Look, it's not, like, 'think of a happy little thought' fairy dust, O.K? It's just- Fairies have magical powers. Mostly it's parlor tricks, nothing serious. Anyway, whenever a fairy uses his powers, it leaves behind this layer of…dust. Hence fairy-dust."

Derek's eyebrows were definitely saying "I really don't believe you and will probably soon rip your throat out with my teeth solely to shut you up even though I was the one that pressured you into talking in the first place". What Derek's _mouth_ said was, "How'd you even- Did fairies switch you at birth or something?"

Stiles flushed, equal parts embarrassment and anger. "_No_. That changeling myth is _so_ over-exaggerated. I mean, yeah, some fairies steal human children from their cradles, but some _werewolves_ eat people." Stiles leveled his gaze at Derek, eyes dead serious. "I'd ask if _you_ eat people, but I honestly don't want to know the answer."

Derek growled a little and glowered a lot, but Stiles was actually feeling very sober, because the question had some merit. "My mother was a fairy. Taught me a few things before- She never did tell my father. I never really knew why. She was very firm about keeping the secret, said I could tell absolutely no one, so I didn't."

Derek was silent now, probably, Stiles mused, thinking about his own childhood, a family desperate to keep a secret. The consequences of failing. In a strange sort of way, Derek could understand _why_ he'd done it, was the only one who truly could. Scott, who had never had the _opportunity_ to hide the secret from Stiles, wouldn't understand. Couldn't.

Stiles thought, just a for moment, sitting in the woods with Derek silently contemplating at his side, that maybe, _just maybe_, he and Derek would make good friends.

Then, of course, Derek's face toughened, and he looked back at Stiles all I'm-an-alpha-werewolf-without-any-of-those-girly-_feelings_-you-insist-on-having, and Stiles realized that, with his constant yammering and uncanny ability to provoke looks ranging from generally annoyed to I-am-definitely-going-to-murder-you-slowly-and-painfully on Derek's face, they would actually make _terrible_ friends.

"So, you're a fairy," Derek stated even though Stiles had already said that _twice,_ so there really wasn't any point anymore, "with _wings-_" Derek really needed to get over the whole _wings_ thing "-and you've been lying to _everyone_ about it." His mouth stopped moving, but his eyebrows said "Am I seriously supposed to believe this crap?"

Stiles made a choking noise in the back of his throat. "What? Mr. Big, Powerful _Werewolf_ has trouble believing in _fairies_? Seriously?"

Derek sniffed disdainfully. "I always thought they were a myth."

Stiles rolled his eyes, unable to contain his disbelief. "And most of the world thinks _werewolves_ are a myth, yet here you are. Seriously, dude, I just don't see how this is that surprising to you. You grow _fangs_ and _claws_."

"And you-" Derek said, an I-will-only-maim-you-and-not-totally-kill-you growl behind the words "-have wings."

Stiles dropped his head into his hands. Talking to Derek was like talking to a brick wall. That couldn't wrap it's mind around the concept of "wings".

"Look, alright, I can see that this is hard for your inferior intellect to understand-" cue growl from Derek (probably with a little fang) "-so I'm going to show you something, a little bit of fairy magic, and then you're going to stop looking at me like I'm crazy, and start paying attention, because the only reason I'm actually telling you anything of this is because, by some terrible, horrible happenstance, I just might need your help." Stiles' voice had steadily risen while speaking until he was practically shouting.

Derek didn't say anything, and Stiles pointedly ignored his angry-eyebrows (and, really, when weren't they angry?) because he found he actually felt a lot better about this situation if he just got mad at and blamed everything on Derek.

Stiles grabbed up a twig from the ground and held it out between him and Derek. "This," he said, very seriously, "is a twig." Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles continued as if he hadn't seen it. "It is a dead, non-fruit-bearing, basically useless twig, would you agree?" Derek didn't say anything, so Stiles took that to mean "yes".

"Now, observe carefully." Then, Stiles closed his eyes, and focused on the twig, like his mother used to tell him to do when he was young.

"Think about what you want to happen," she would say with a sweet smile on her face, wings glittering in the sun, and Stiles would stare, transfixed and unabashed, because those magic lessons were one of the only times his mother would let her wings out, and they were the most beautiful things Stiles had ever seen. "Picture it happening. Imagine each step taking place."

He could feel it working, pulling through his skin, like his soul was wriggling around, and then Derek gasped, and Stiles wasn't sure if he'd ever heard Derek, Mr. Doom and Gloom, sound so awestruck, and he felt a little smug about that. When he could feel the familiar itch of dust settling on his hands, Stiles opened his eyes.

He raised the newly grown, bright red apple up to Derek's face and said, "Go on. Pluck it; eat it. It's real." Derek's eyes were wide as-

Derek actually hadn't believed him. Derek, son of a bitch that he was (pun intended), had thought that Stiles was making it up. Making it up? Wings and his mother and _fairies_? Derek was an even bigger idiot than Stiles had ever imagined. He might even be as big of an idiot as Scott (but probably not, because it was _Scott_).

Stiles opened his mouth to rag on Derek incessantly for not immediately believing whatever Stiles told him, but suddenly Derek's face was stern and expecting, mouth opening and closing with a harsh "What is it?"

And what did Derek even mean by- "Oh, right. The reason." The reason that Stiles might be overreacting to but might also be under-reacting to because not even Stiles really knew what the reason was.

He swallowed once.

Then three more times, to be safe.

"Right. The reason," he repeated because Derek repeated "You're a fairy" after Stiles had already said so _twice_. "Well I found this-" and the paper was out of his hand before Stiles even got the chance to hold it out "-on the top of the tree. I think it was meant for me because I'm pretty sure I'm the only guy around who can fly willy-nilly to the tops of trees to receive cryptic letters with silly smiley-face stickers, except I must not be anymore because someone managed to leave _that_."

"Great," Derek groaned, crumpling the paper in his hand, and Stiles kind of wanted to yell at him for that but realized that it probably wasn't the time. "Someone else like _you_."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

There was a decent chunk of time where Stiles talked (i.e. whined) a lot, and Derek just growled with gradually increasing viciousness until there was full fang and claw action going on. At that point, Stiles deemed it beneficial to his continued existence on earth to _not_ be alone with Derek Hale in the forest anymore.

So Stiles found himself lying on the floor of his room, staring at the ceiling and wishing his magical powers included the ability to sink into the ground, when his father's keys jingled in the door and, still using his Sheriff-voice even though he was already in his own home, he yelled, "Stiles! Please tell me you didn't get into too much trouble today."

Stiles couldn't hold back his wince at that because his dad always asked him to _please_ not get into too much trouble, and Stiles always disappointed him in ways so bad, his dad didn't even know. Still, he answered with his customary "Define trouble, again?", which his dad always blessedly ignored (in the way that he managed to ignore many of the far-spanning quirks Stiles exhibited in his daily life), so Stiles got to pretend like he wasn't _really_ lying to his dad, and his dad got to pretend that Stiles was a sincerely normal, extremely well-behaved kid with perfect grades and stellar sporting-skills.

For the most part, Sheriff Stilinski upheld very low standards for his only son, consisting mainly of "don't do drugs", "try not to cause any major public or private property damage", and "avoid getting arrested", and, in return, Stiles attempted to stay alive and in school and only occasionally harbored fugitives.

Stiles winced again.

Then, because Stiles was _not_ a coward, he got up and ate a nice, heart-healthy dinner with his father, and did _not_ unceremoniously burst into hysterics whenever the house creaked. Admittedly, Stiles might have been overreacting, but Stiles had never interacted with any other fairies. In fact, barring his mother and uptight, I'm-only-worried-that-you're-going-to-expose-the-secret-of-fairies-to-the-entire-world-and-_then_-where-would-we-be Dain, Stiles had never even _met_ another fairy, but he'd heard stories.

Most fairies were tricksters, harmless enough unless you got them really pissed off, but a trickster in a town with werewolves and _hunters_ could be a disaster. Also, from what little Stiles knew, fairies weren't exactly share-care-alike. If one was moving into his town, did that mean that he was going to try to push _Stiles _out? Or was he just a passer-through? Stiles was pretty sure that a lot of fairies lived semi-nomadic lifestyles, but what if this one _didn't_.

And what was with that note! Was it suppose to warn him? Scare him? Or maybe it was just for the LOLZ. Stiles was pretty sure a lot of fairies did stuff just for the LOLZ. Just look at Stiles. Still, even for-the-LOLZ-ing could get out of hand. Just look at Stiles.

Stiles was panicking and pacing and maybe hyperventilating a little bit when a sudden rap on his window sent him all but flying out of his own skin. It was only by years of practiced secrecy and Dain's near-constant threats ("I swear to you, Stilinski, on all that is holy and pure, I will have your _head_ if you don't pull your wings in _right this second_!") that he managed to _not_ expand his wings, and a damn good thing, too, because who would show his stupidly grinning face but Scott my-best-friend's-been-lying-to-me-our-entire-lives-and-I-don't-even-know-it McCall.

His smile slipped off his face, though, as he slid through the window. "Dude, what's up? I could here your heart beating a block away." Stiles knew it was an exaggeration because Scott couldn't pick up a heart beat two rooms away (unless it was Allison's) but he got the point.

Stiles tried to lean against his bed casually, but he missed and nearly brained himself on his bedside table as he plummeted toward the floor, wrist painfully connecting with the corner of his bed while his arms flailed uselessly in an attempt to halt his fall. Then, when he attempted to lift himself up off the floor, his ankle got caught in the sheets from his bed (which probably wouldn't have happened if he ever made his bed like his dad _told him to_) and he was once again sent sprawling onto the floor. Once he finally managed to stand, being extra careful to avoid any objects that could force him to embarrass himself _further_, Scott was staring at him like Stiles had been dropped on his head repeatedly as a child.

"Dude, seriously, are you alright? I mean, you're clumsy, but that was-"

"I am not clumsy!" Stiles said merely as a means of avoidance because he _so_ was. "I'm just tactfully unaware of my surroundings."

Scott wrinkled his nose in a way Stiles affectionately dubbed his my-best-friend's-kind-of-really-strange look. "I don't think that's a real thing, man."

Stiles looked at Scott very pointedly, because he could. Honestly, if Stiles tried he probably _could_ convince Scott that it was advantageous to be completely oblivious to his surroundings (like Scott needed _more_ help in that department), but this was neither the time nor the place.

"Anyway," Stiles proceeded, deciding that the conversation had been duly diverted from talking about his_ minor_ panicking, "what brings you to my neck of the woods?"

Scott's face was suddenly very serious. "Derek." Stiles didn't flinch or scream or hide in his closet, but he wanted to. "Although, I don't know what he was on about. He just said, 'Scott-'" and, really, his Derek impression was _spot on_ "'-you should talk to Stiles. _Now_.' So, what do you need to talk about or is Derek just being crazier than usual?"

"Derek is a dick," Stiles said, forcing his voice not to come out as a squeak, "and doesn't know what he's talking about, and you should never listen to anything he says. Never, you got that, Scott? We no longer listen to Derek's opinion on anything. In fact, we should totally team up with the hunters to _kill_ Derek. I bet _that_ would get you back on Allison's good side."

Scott's eyebrows were doing an impersonation of a unibrow. "Stiles, what's going on? Is it Derek?" Man, Stiles had even mentioned _Allison_. What was more distracting than that to Scott?

"It's not _Derek_," Stiles said before he realized that he was admitting that it _was_ someone.

"Who then? You know you can tell me anything. I can help."

"Listen, Scott, now's just not a great-" except Scott was giving him sad-puppy eyes and he totally _could_ tell Scott anything and _those eyes_ and Stiles was totally caving. "Fine. I may kind of have something to tell you."

Scott perked up, eyes lighting up with a mix of excitement over pulling the information out of Stiles and trepidation over just what that information might be.

Stiles took a deep breath. "Yeah, so, I'm kind of a fairy."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Be serious, Stiles."

Stiles didn't say anything. He just looked Scott straight in the eye and watched as his face slowly changed for annoyance to confusion to horror. "You are being serious. _Seriously_?"

Stiles chuckled nervously because Scott was looking at him a little like he'd never seen him before, and Stiles had had _nightmares_ about that look, and - "There might be a little bit more."

And that was how Stiles ended up standing in front of _everyone_ while Derek looked on expectantly and Scott just kept looking flabbergasted.

Immediately following Stiles' admission, Scott had demanded proof, upon which Stiles (begrudgingly) showed him his wings. Scott had gaped, mouth hanging wide open, for almost five straight minutes, but then, instead of the "How could you not have told me?"s and "I thought we were friends."s that Stiles had been expecting (read _dreading_), Scott had squared his shoulders, stuck out his jaw, and declared, "Pack meeting."

Scott then, for some godforsaken reason, dragged Stiles _back_ into the woods to Derek's house where he was suddenly and viciously surrounded by some of his closest friends and worst enemies. No one looked very happy.

"Why," Lydia began, angrily flipping her hair (and she was _so_ good at portraying her emotions via hair-tosses), "do I have to be here?" Jackson tilted his head in a way that said, "Yeah, we hate and are better than all of you, remember?"

Jackson had actually developed something of a _heart_ since the whole kanima-almost-dying-werewolf-_Lydia_ thing happened, but that didn't make him _pleasant _to be around, and while Stiles would always take any opportunity to be around Lydia, the circumstances were not ideal. Hell, pretty much _any_ situation would have been more ideal.

Derek growled a little, his three subpar betas flanking him on either side. "It's not exactly like I'm thrilled to welcome you all into my home."

Eyes darting judgmentally over the ash and soot and general _filth_ of the room, Lydia scoffed. "Some home."

Then Allison, blessed Allison, hiding behind Lydia and trying not to look Scott in the eye, who was there even though she had been making it her business to avoid these kinds of situations since the whole mother-dying-going-kinda-crazy-but-then-not thing happened, cleared her throat a little, and finally looked up from the floor. "What Lydia means is we're just wondering why we were all called down here."

"That," Derek said, eyes super intent and a little amused (_damn_ him), "is a question for Stiles."

Suddenly, all eyes were on him, and Stiles felt a knot the size of Scott's obliviousness ball up in his stomach. "Oh, _hell_ no. There is no way I'm doing this in front of all them. Not in a million years; not if you paid me a million dollars; not if you paid me a million dollars every day for a million years. Not-!"

"Stiles," Scott _whimpered_, and his eyes were doing that puppy thing again, and then suddenly Allison _and_ Isaac were throwing him these hurt, aren't-we-innocent looks and _damn them all_.

"Fine, Jesus Christ. Just- Stop looking at me like that. Scott! Call off your demon herd, I'll do it, I'll do it."

Scott smiled triumphantly (and maybe a little _deviously_) and motioned for Stiles to speak. The only problem was that Stiles' mouth had suddenly decided to stop working. Like, _at all_. He'd never had this problem before. He didn't know what to do. The silence was going on for so long, he had to say something; he had to-

"Oh, for Christ's-sake, Stiles is a fairy." Stiles wasn't sure if he wanted to punch Derek in the face or hug him in relief. At least now it was out there.

Then, after three long seconds of silence, Stiles heard six snickers permeate the air. "Oh, for the love of- Are you guys serious? Is that the only joke you can think of?" Then he heard a seventh snicker and looked over to see Scott covering his mouth with his hand because _of course_ he just got it.

"I expected better from you, _all_ of you- Well, O.K., maybe not Jackson, but _Allison_, really? I thought we were friends." But they were all still snickering, some grown to giggles and even a few out-right laughs, and most of them looked like they thought maybe Stiles had gone off the deep end this time, so Stiles did the only thing he could think of to shut them up for a few seconds. "Fine, if you won't _listen_, then maybe -" and his wings were out, in all their glory, and suddenly Stiles missed when they were laughing at him.

_Well damn_, Stiles thought in a sudden moment of horrifying clarity, _maybe Dain was right_.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

No one said anything. At all. For a long time. Stiles almost went insane from the silence and the pressure and the thoughts of _Oh my God, Dain's going to find out about this and pin me to a board by my wings like a butterfly in one of those mildly creepy (because, hello, __**wings**__) exhibits at the science museum_, until finally Isaac spoke up.

He wandered forward slowly, right hand stretching out in front of him as if it had a mind of its own, and his voice was almost _dreamy_ when he asked, "Are they real?"

Stiles jumped back from his approaching hand, only barely managing not to fly up in the air like he had when Derek had made a similar (if not entirely more aggressive) move. "How about we instate a hands-off policy as far as my wings are concerned, 'kay?" His tone was sharper than he'd meant for it to be (Stiles would never admit it, but he was _sensitive_ about his wings, okay?), and Isaac winced a little, quickly pulling his hand back, so Stiles tried to smile at him instead. It was a fumbled attempt but, from the look of relief on Isaac's face and the tentative smile he offered in return, appreciated none-the-less.

"Can you really even call those wings?" And _of course_ Jackson was the next one to wake up. He was doing that I'm-a-jackass-isn't-it-obvious thing, but there wasn't _real_ venom behind it. At this point, it was just habit. "They look like they'd break if I blinked too close to them."

"Hey!" Stiles huffed indignantly because _rude _(venomous or not). "These babies are unbreakable. You hear me? _Unbreakable_. They're also sharp enough to chop your head off in one stroke, so I wouldn't test that blinking theory, if I were you."

That was met with resounding silence, and it took Stiles a second to realize what word-vomit he'd spewed all over them. Once he did, he winced, but at least he could be comforted by the fact that people would stop trying to get their _paws_ all over Stiles' wings. Priorities.

"So, Stiles is a fairy," Scott said, a glimmer of certainty in his voice that didn't match his deer-in-the-headlights eyes (and, really, Stiles was going to have a conversation with them about repeating that after it had already been _well established_ that he was a fairy), "and there's more."

The group shared a collective groan, and Stiles figured he should probably step up and start doing some real explaining because this was _his_ news, after all, and talking was _his_ strong suit. "Yep, um, _more_. You see, there may sort of kind of be a fairy (one who isn't me) traipsing around town, and I don't know why he's here or what he'll do, and, I mean, I don't even technically know if it's a he. Could be a she. A she-fairy. Not that 'fairy' is a masculine term that refers solely to male fairies and, therefore, has to be clarified when talking about female fairies, but, besides my mom, I've only _known_ male fairies, and I guess that isn't saying much, 'cause I've really only known one other fairy, and he's kind of a douche, but that's really just because he's worried I'll do something as stupid as what I'm doing _right now_, actually, so I should probably apologize for all the incredibly rude things I've said to him over the years because he ended up being right all along, and who would figure, and can someone please stop me now because I really don't think I can do it on my-"

"Stiles!" Allison said, very sternly but in that stern-yet-loving way she had that looked a lot like that stern-yet-loving thing Scott's mom did, and that made _so much sense_. She put her hand on his arm and _squeezed_ a little, and Stiles was reminded that he actually really liked Allison, though he sometimes complained about how _Scott_ was around Allison, and that this was why.

She got it. In a way none of the wolves could. In a way Lydia couldn't even. And Stiles wasn't even really human, so it wasn't that, so much as that Allison just _got it_. Stiles kind of wished she and Scott hadn't broken up.

"Right," he said, finally, taking a breath. Right.

"So," Erica said, staring at Stiles flatly. "There's a fairy in town. Undisclosed gender. And you're not actually going to be much help because, despite being a fairy _yourself_, you don't actually know anything about fairies."

Stiles wanted to huff indignantly, but it was sort of _true_. He did it anyway.

Lydia stepped forward again, and she actually seemed relatively unfazed by this, and Stiles figured that it took her approximately 0.2 seconds to process, interpret, and compartmentalize. "What, exactly, _are_ we all doing here?"

And Stiles didn't even really know that. Outside of the whole _BT-dubs, I'm a fairy, y'all_-thing. Scott was the one who had actually called this meeting. Stiles looked to him for an answer.

"Too many secrets," Scott said, making eye-contact with Derek and then with Stiles, and if the look in his eyes didn't fill Stiles to the _brim_ with guilt, nothing could. Then, finally, _blessedly_, he turned his gaze to the rest of the group. "Keeping secrets from each other is how we've all almost gotten killed _multiple_ times before." He looked back to Derek, and Derek took that as his cue to be all I'm-the-Alpha-werewolf again.

"Scott's right. We don't know yet if this new-" his eyes slid over to Stiles "-fairy is a threat, but you should all be informed. You should report any information you may uncover _directly_ to me or Stiles." Stiles' eyes bugged when his name was mentioned, but it really did only make _sense_, since he was the resident fairy in these parts. "You don't all have to get along, but you do have to survive. I'll be in touch if there's any news." Which really meant that he'd be in touch with _Stiles_ if there were any news, and then Stiles would be expected to be in touch with everyone else. "And Allison-"

But he didn't have a chance to say anything to her because Stiles cut him off with a fervent, "You _cannot_ tell your father." Everyone actually seemed a little surprised at that. Stiles was generally a big we-should-all-just-cooperate-to-avoid-_dying_ supporter.

"Stiles-" Allison began, and Stiles really wasn't sure what she was going to say, but it didn't matter because _everyone_ had to here this.

"No. Let me talk. I told you all this because Scott's right, there have been too many secrets, and because, knowing the way things seem to happen around here, this could get very out of control very fast, but this _does not_ give you blanket permission to go around running your mouths. Absolutely _no one_ can know about this, especially not the hunters."

Jackson rolled his eyes. "I think we know how to keep a secret, Stilinski."

"No, you really don't," Stiles said, using the take-no-prisoners voice he'd adopted as a hybrid of his dad's Sheriff voice and Dain's it's-the-_Rules_ voice. "Look around you. A few months ago only one person in this room even knew werewolves existed. Extenuating circumstances, I know, but knowing about fairies is kind of a fairies-only club." Stiles took a deep breath, and no one used the pause to interrupt him, so he counted that as a plus. "And by fairies-only club, I mean there's a council that will literally _pin me to a wall_ if they find out I told a bunch of werewolves and two humans. With _giants pins_. Dain showed me them once because I was twelve and a brat and threatening to expose the existence of fairies to the world, and, believe me, they do not look pleasant."

Scott's eyes were as round as dinner plates, and it looked like he was maybe thinking that he should've asked Stiles more questions before dragging him in front of a huge group of people, which, well, _duh_, but he'd been right. They deserved, after everything, to know. "Pin you? To a _wall_?"

Stiles nodded sharply. "With giant pins, threw my _wings_. It's like fairy time out."

Derek's shoulders were tense. "They sound like hunters."

Stiles shook his head. "Uh-uh, big boy. We don't get hunted because of the Rules. You hear that capital 'r'? I've never actually read them, but it's clearly been effective because everyone either thinks we're mythology or extinct, even werewolves and hunters." His wings fluttered a little with nervous tension, and it was still really weird (but also kind of freeing?) to leave them out like this. "Dain's very _adamant_ about them."

"Who's Dain?" Scott asked because Stiles had mentioned him twice now and had forgotten that not everyone in the world automatically knew who Dain was.

Stiles scratched the back of his neck. "Oh, he's my council representative. He stops by once a month and yells at me for being incompetent. Then asks me if anything interesting's happened, which I promptly lie about, praising whatever god wants to listen that they don't actually care enough about the human world to monitor the happenings of Beacon Hills because they would _so not be pleased_ that I'd been hiding a pack of werewolves and a family of hunters from them."

Isaac scrunched up his eyebrows, and he looked sort of like a puppy when he did that. "If fairies aren't interested in the human world, then why would one be here now?"

This was all getting much more complicated than Stiles had hoped. "_The Council_ isn't interested in the human world. They live under a water fall or in the clouds or God-knows where and, I bet, laugh as we all panic about being pinned to their trouble-maker-wall.-" Stiles may have been fixating, but _dude_. He'd had nightmares for most of his life about being pinned to walls. _Horrible_ nightmares. Mostly by fault of Dain. "-Most _fairies_, on the other hand, actually enjoy the human world very much. From what I gather, they cruise around partaking in trickery and high jinx with their powers and laughing at as the silly humans squirm and go crazy."

There was another moment of silence, and Stiles was getting really sick of those.

"Just one more thing," Lydia said, very calmly. She raised one perfectly-plucked (or waxed, Stiles didn't really know) eyebrow. "Powers?"

So Stiles showed them a little bit of magic and explained how every fairy has slightly different powers, how his was centered around regrowth, how there was no way to predict what another fairy's powers would _be_. Then he flew for them because Scott, Allison, and Isaac gave him _the eyes_, and what else was he supposed to do with that? He took a little satisfaction, though he tried and failed at not showing it, in the way they all gasped (even _Derek_). Finally, they all went their separate ways, which Stiles could not have been more pleased about because, seriously, _exhaustion_.

Of course, Scott wasn't done yet. They went to Scott's house because Stiles, Scott argued, had both a car and _wings_ (and apparently it wasn't only Derek that was confounded by the _wings_). Scott's mom was working late that day, and they sat awkwardly in Scott's living room, staring at the wall in silence, until Scott said, "You could have told me."

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face, but he'd known this was coming. "Did you not hear the part about being pinned to a wall?"

Scott actually had the decency to look guilty at that, but he shook it off quickly, and it's not like Stiles could _blame_ him. "Still, Stiles. You could have told me." There were the puppy eyes. The stupid, heart-melting puppy eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Stiles blew air out harshly between his lips. "I don't really know. It just- It never seemed like the time. First we were so young, and whenever I thought about telling you, I'd hear my mother's voice in my head-" and Scott went very still at that because Stiles _never_ talked about his mother "-telling me not to tell anyone, not even dad, that the most important thing in the world was _keeping the secret_." Stiles stared off a little, letting his eyes focus on memories long past. "I've always wondered what could have possibly happened to make her so _adamant_." It was the same word he'd used to describe Dain. It fit.

Stiles shook his head clear. "Then, the longer I went without telling you, the _less_ it seemed like the time to tell you. I almost did, when I figured out that you were a werewolf, but you were already going through so much, it seemed like too much to spring on you at the time. 'Yeah, hey, I know you suddenly have to deal with controlling your powers and resisting crazy, killer Alphas and avoiding _hunters_, but I just wanted you to know that, also, I'm a fairy and have been lying to you about it our entire lives.'"

Scott looked like he understood, or, at least, like he really, _really_ wanted to understand, and that was as close as Stiles could ever hope to get. "I know, Stiles, but you could have told me." And suddenly it didn't sound like an accusation. It sounded more like- Like Scott was trying to assure Stiles, to comfort him.

Stiles smiled at Scott fondly because Scott was his best and _always would be_. "Thanks, buddy."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Turned out, Stiles didn't have that much to worry about on the whole not-knowing-who-the-fairy-was front because, just two short days later, the answer hit him like the McCall's favorite baseball bat to the face. New kid.

Stiles literally threw himself into the nearest classroom when he saw him in the hall because their was no way in _hell_ Stiles was going to give the guy a chance to identify him.

The kid just _oozed_ fairy. He even looked like a fairy, all sharp features and (Stiles swore) _pointed_ ears ("His ears aren't pointed, Stiles," Scott had said when Stiles later announced his astute observation. Scott was _wrong_.), but even without the obvious, Stiles could just feel it.

As he had revealed in his fit of panic, the only fairies Stiles had ever known were his mother and Dain, and they'd both been around before Stiles was _born_. He was desensitized to their presences, but _this_ kid.

If only the werewolves in his life weren't so _oblivious_.

"Have you seen him yet?" Stiles hissed at Scott, plunking down across from him at lunch, casting furtive glances around the cafeteria to avoid being shanghaied.

Scott gave him a typical Scott McCall face of incomprehension. "Who?"

Stiles almost face-palmed because _seriously_? Even if the guy didn't _exude _fairy (which he did, so no other argument needed to be said), he was a new kid who suddenly appeared in Bean fucking Hills right after a new fairy left a weird-ass note for Stiles to find. Clueless, thy name is Scott.

"The new kid. Doesn't he seem a little-" Stiles raised his eyebrows, implication heavy in his eyes "-to you."

"A little what?" It was an honest question, given so honestly because Scott _honestly_ didn't have any idea what Stiles was talking about.

Stiles raised and lowered his eyes a couple more times and even added some jazz hands, but Scott still wasn't clicking. "We need codewords, dude. Badly."

Scott got it eventually. If you define "eventually" as "after Stiles told him _explicitly_ what was going on." _Three times_ (technically four, but Allison sashayed by in a particularly low cut top during one of them, so Stiles gave him that one). But, you know, that was Scott, and Stiles loved him for it. Usually.

They were all gathered together at the Hale house. ("Again. In less than a week," Jackson had unhelpfully supplied.) Allison was still wearing that particularly low cut top, and Stiles felt for the way Scott was valiantly _not looking_, he really did. Allison was a cruel woman, and she didn't even know it (although Allison could also impale him at 30 paces, so maybe she did).

Someone scoffed a rude side comment about what they were even doing there, but Stiles hadn't seen who. It was possibly Jackson. Actually, it was probably Jackson. Yep, it was definitely Jackson. "_Seriously_?" Stiles was offended that all of his friends were this dumb. "Come on, someone, anyone. Lydia? Allison?"

Allison smiled at him and gave him gracious-apology eyes, but it didn't soothe the burn in his heart. Stiles had always known Scott was oblivious, but they didn't mean the rest of them had to be.

"It's about the new kid," Lydia said, and Stiles was reminded for one horrible moment why he'd pined over her for over a decade, but Jackson's arm was around her and her hand was in his back pocket and, Christ, all of his friends were going to marry their high school sweethearts. He could just feel it.

"What about the new kid?" Erica sneered because, as a general rule, Erica was completely unhelpful (but also kind of cool, sometimes, when she talked to Stiles about Batman).

"Stiles thinks he's a fairy," Scott said, trying really hard to be helpful, but Scott was also, as a general rule, completely unhelpful, so it fell a little short.

"Stiles does not _think_ he's a fairy. Stiles _knows_ he's a fairy."

"Does Stiles also _know_ that he's talking in third person?" Erica snarked because, once again, _unhelpful_.

Derek growled a little, and everyone turned to look at him because even if he wasn't _their_ Alpha, he was still _the_ Alpha, and "their" and "the" have three of the same letters. But then Derek just looked pointedly at Stiles, so suddenly all those stares were focused on _him_.

"Right." Stiles cleared his throat. "The new kid is a fairy, and, since no other fairy has strolled through town in near-about two decades, I think we can assume that he's _the_ fairy."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

There were 37 awkward seconds of silence when everyone finally realized that this might actually be important. 37, Stiles knew, because he counted. Having a mouth that never stopped moving, Stiles wasn't really sure what to do with 37 seconds of silence, but thankfully Scott broke it for him.

"So," Scott said, scratching the back of his neck like he often did when he was uncomfortable. Stiles saw Allison's eyes go soft at the gesture, and- _Christ_. The Scott/Allison star-crossed lovers bit would _never end_. "What do we do about it?"

Stiles automatically opened his mouth to talk, except then he realized that he didn't actually have anything to say to that, so he closed it. But no one else looked ready to step forward (not even Derek _Alpha werewolf_ Hale), and Stiles wasn't about to wait another agonizing 37 seconds, so he opened it again and prayed that something useful would fall out. Nothing happened.

"Really?" Jackson sneered. "_This_ is the one time your mouth chooses to stay shut?"

Stiles was about to rudely point out that his mouth _wasn't_ shut (although, thinking about it, that wasn't really any defense), but Scott was once stepped up in his stead. "We could try talking to him?"

_Oh, Scott_, Stiles thought forlornly. Well, at least he was trying.

"No, I'm serious! I feel like half our problems could've been solved with proper communication. Maybe if we confront him, he'll just leave."

Stiles had actually been following Scott's logic. Honestly, "talk about our feelings and resolve things peacefully" was just so _Scott_. But, then again, so was "defeat the evil monster with the power of _love_," and Stiles had never thought he'd see the day when that one would save their sorry asses. "Scott might have a point."

Scott looked torn between commenting on the "might" and beaming like a small child given a gold star. The latter was definitely winning. "I mean, I'll admit that I was all this-fairy-is-probably-_evil_ the other day, and, let's face it, this fairy is probably evil, but I also don't really know how fairy politics work. Maybe that note he left was just his version of a, 'Howdy, neighbor' fruitcake. Maybe we'll have a nice barbecue. But then again all these sentences have far too many 'maybe's, so we might want to have a Plan B.-"

"Stiles," Boyd said forcefully, and Stiles was glad someone finally cut him off. "You mentioned another fairy - Dain?" Stiles nodded, struck dumb by the power of Boyd's serious face. Stiles was pretty sure Boyd was the only one in their group capable of pulling that off (Derek's serious faces never counted, 'cause they were too angst-y). "When will you next be in contact with him?"

* * *

Technically, Stiles wasn't due to see Dain for almost a month, but Stiles could actually talk to Dain _whenever he wanted_. This was a feature Stiles had frequently ignored because he had spent most of his life seeing as little of Dain as possible. The day Dain had suggested switching their weekly meet-and-greets to monthly had been the happiest day of Stiles's life. Even mystical fairies sent out by grand fairy councils had cell phones, though.

"Stiles." Stiles wasn't fooled by the lack of exclamation point, Dain was flabbergasted. "Did you burn down Beacon Hills?"

Stiles wanted to be offended (he really did), but if he was in Dain's shoes, he'd probably have assumed worse. "_No_. I was just curious about something."

"Oh, god, no," Dain said, and he hadn't sounded so horrified since Stiles considered auditioning for his school play in elementary school. His exact words to Stiles' mom were, "I would sooner gouge out my eyes". "Stiles, before you do something unredeemable, just remember that _my_ reputation is on the line. What am I saying? That won't mean anything to you. Remember that your _wings_ are on the line.-"

"Dain! I haven't done anything.-" blatant lie "- I just realized the other day that I've never really met any other fairies, and I was wondering why that is and what I would do if I ever ran across one on the street-"

"Stiles." Stiles knew Dain's eyes were narrowing. "Is there another fairy in Beacon Hills?"

Stiles was tempted to just tell Dain the truth. Maybe the council had protocol for this. Maybe Dain would come in, deal with the fairy, and leave without any hassle. Maybe he wouldn't even find out about the werewolf infestation Beacon Hills was suffering from. And maybe the rainbow tasted like gumdrops and sprinkled sunshine on unicorns. "No, Dain. Beacon Hills is just as uneventful as ever. I was just wondering, for curiosity's sake. Plus, I come of age in a few years-" Stiles pretended not to hear the "Not soon enough" Dain so _helpfully_ supplied "-and I thought I might eventually need to know."

Dain was sizing him up. Stiles could _feel it_. Eventually, he sighed and said, "Well, you'd know if you ever paid attention to _anything that I said_, but of course that would be asking too much. Underage fairies aren't just allowed to roam the world at their fancy, but once they come of-age-"

"21 years old because The Council has a thing for 3s and 7s and 21 is 3 times 7. I do pay attention sometimes."

"-we really stop keeping track of them unless they give us a reason to stay on our radar. You've never met another fairy, though, Stiles, because we try to keep roaming fairies away from you children. Nomadic fairies are usually trouble makers, and you children are headache enough without _more_ bad influences. There's a registry with the locations of underage fairies that any fairies can reference- Not names, mind you, just glowing dots to illustrate presence. It's not _forbidden_, per se, to involve oneself with an underage fairy without familial bonds-"

"But The Council's never had to _forbid_ something to keep people from doing it."

"And since Beacon Hills isn't exactly LA or New York, you won't have to worry about what to do if you run into a fairy in the street for four years. Even then, I would suggest you avoid the incidence whenever possible. Fairies just don't- Well, in my experience, they don't play well with others."

The line was silent for a moment, and Stiles's stomach twisted a little. So, out-of-towner leaving Stiles, a definitively underage fairy, teasing notes? Not boding well for him. "Th-Thanks, Dain. That's pretty much what I wanted to know."

"Good, then. Stiles, I fear we should also discuss your poor attendance record-"

"Oh, would you look at the time? Gotta split. Thanks for everything. I'll see you next month!"

"Stiles, wait-!"

But Stiles hung up before Dain could get him talking about his "poor attendance record."

* * *

"So, that's it then? He couldn't just be goofing around?" Scott's voice was kind of muffled, since his head was currently stuck inside his locker. He was taking an exorbitant amount of time to fish all his stuff out of his locker, and Stiles was starting to wonder if his locker housed some pocket dimension - or maybe Scott had become a wizard overnight and was doing the thing like Hermione's bad in the last book.

Stiles was relaying the conversation he'd had with Dain, and he would have to do it all over again with the others thanks to Scott's knew share-and-care-alike philosophy, but he wanted to think things through with Scott first. Some of the others were growing on him, but he still didn't trust anyone 100%. He didn't trust most of them 50%.

Stiles released a harsh breath of air. "It's pretty safe to assume that whatever he's up to is not on the down-low, and not just in a typical, fairies-like-chaos kind of way. I mean-" Stiles swallowed a little, because this was really what he'd been mulling over "-that kid didn't look 21. He didn't look any older than us. I didn't think about it before because, unlike some people, I don't have The Rules memorized, but Dain brought it up and- Fairies are all kind of probationary until we turn 21. Once that happens, presto, we're set free to roam the earth as we please, but until then The Council keeps a sharp eye on us. Like, _seriously_ sharp."

Scott had confused eyebrows going on, but he had finally finished his death match with his locker, so they started to amble down the empty halls. Stiles estimated they were roughly 10 minutes late to class already. "Then how-?

"-Is he here causing a ruckus in my life before I even properly meet him? Your guess is as good as mine, dude, but I doubt it's 'cause he got off early for good behavior."

Scott bit back a groan. "It can never be easy, can it? Well, at least now we know how he knew you were here."

"Yeah," Stiles said, though it didn't feel like a very big victory. "But we still don't-"

And that was when Stiles turned the corner and literally ran into - who else? - the new kid.

_Shit_.


End file.
